First Meeting
by MustBeRyan
Summary: This is a story based on ideas I had about two of my oc's, who are states. Takes place during the American Revolution and gives a bit of backstory about them.


::New Hampshire POV::

It was during the American Revolution, in Massachusetts, when I first laid eyes on Mack Johnson. Both of us were only about 14 years old, but that didn't stop us from fighting for our cause. No one seemed to care either. I was only a drummer, which was common, but Mack? He was the best shot I had ever seen. Never heard him speak, but we all knew. Something had happened to him, left him on his own in the woods of Maine, a province in the very colony we were defending, stealing his voice. No one knew how he survived, but he did. And he was damn good at it.

I, however, was nothing short of an idiot, attempting to prove himself to someone who'd never look twice. Was I bitter? Yes. Am I still bitter, hundreds of years later? You can bet your ass. Only now, I don't care what he thinks. Who? England. Did I say I was 14 earlier? Try around 100. 100 years of being left to be scorned, left to die by the hands of my own people. New Hampshire was religious then. An immortal child was nothing short of witchcraft. And witchcraft was the devil's work. _I_ was the devil's work. And he left me there to watch another grow. He didn't even leave me a house. Hell, a blanket would've been a blessing in winter.

But back to Mack. He had deep violet eyes, the kind that bore into you, seeing every secret you wanted to hide. I think he was the sole reason I realized I was bi. And he saved me.

I had run off, you see. Not from our cause, but away from my unit, with a stolen gun. I wanted to face him. I knew he was in Virginia, but his people were here. If we drove them out, it would wipe that smug look right off his face. But I made a mistake. I wasn't ready. I couldn't take the shots I needed to and in return, I got a bullet in my thigh. Still have the scar. I thought I was done for. I could see the pity in their eyes, but I knew they wouldn't hold back. They were English. When had the English ever showed me mercy? But then it happened. Arrows embedded into the red coats.

He had followed me. I don't for how long, but I'm guessing he lost me at one point, then followed the gunshot. I don't think he would've let me get shot. Mack didn't even blink when faced with taking a life. He never did. This was different, though. He was almost a ghost, a shadow, popping out from trees to shoot, before fading back into the woods. His bow never made a sound, nor did his feet. I could hear the English yelling. 'There has to be more! No one person could do this much damage!'. They obviously didn't know Mack. Guy was a demon in human skin. Regardless, they fled. They couldn't find him. They couldn't shoot him. They couldn't win.

When he moved out to help me, I tried to speak. To apologize. He had to come all this way, spill so much blood, just to drag my weak ass back to camp. Then I saw his eyes and any word I could've said died on my tongue. Those deep purple eyes, normally blank, cold, were alive. The fires of fury, annoyance, _regret_ danced around, making his normally chilling glare _burn_.

He pulled me up, wrapping an arm around my waist while putting mine over his shoulders. I struggled with the pain, sure, but this was all my fault. I dragged us out here, I could drag myself back. We actually got pretty far, too. Almost made it to the tree line. I wondered if we would vanish into the woods like he had been doing, or if my eyes had been playing tricks on me. Then a shot rang out.

The yell I heard was distinct. Well, that, and it was right in my ear. Mack stumbled, then fell, hair flying as the hat landed a foot or so away. For the second time that night, I tasted dirt. This time, I had drug someone else into my mess. And I was going to get them out of it, alive. So I pulled, moving my arm under theirs, doing my best to block any shots that could've come our way.

The trees provided perfect cover. Mack's side had been torn open somewhat, though the bullet passed through without hitting anything vital. What really shocked me, though, was the long dark brown hair and the bandages wrapped around their chest when I went to wrap my coat around the wound. It was then that I realized why Mack had never spoken nor changed near us. She had lied.

For the first time, I saw a specific emotion pop up in those eyes. Fear. She knew I knew. I turned away, moving to dress my own injury. I couldn't meet her eyes. It was then that I saw the hat. Her cover was laying right there, right outside of the trees.

I didn't even think. I reached out, knowing full well that the soldiers hadn't left yet, and grabbed it. No shots. I hoped that for once, I'd be shown mercy. Glancing over, I could see Mack's eyes watching me, almost glowing in the moonlight. We had never spoken. And I didn't see a reason to do so now. I slipped the hat on her head, a silent promise. I would keep her secret. She had saved me. It was the least I could do. Besides, I trusted her. She had proven herself time and time again.

Sometimes, I wonder if I actually saw tears in her eyes, or if it was a trick of the light. All I know is that for the rest of our time in the same unit, she had my back, taking lives so I wouldn't have to. I didn't know how she did it so calmly, but I'm grateful. She's the reason I was able to take a life. I had to prove I could protect my unit just as anyone else. She almost looked sad, but there was pride hidden below. I never felt the need to prove myself to England after that.

We never spoke. Not once. We went our different ways, though no one knew what became of Mack. She had vanished back into the woodlands she had shown up from, never speaking a word, not even a goodbye. I still have one of the arrows she fired that night. Stupid, I know, but I couldn't leave without something to remember how she was willing to give her life to save another. A true warrior.

I knew nothing about her, but from the moment I saw the person, the ghost who sent men running from the woods, the shadow who snuck around without any sound to stay hidden, glaring down at me, I knew. Seeing her get shot trying to save my stupid ass, seeing the secret she had kept so well hidden, I knew. Seeing the trust in their eyes when they parted ways without a single word spoken, both before and after that night, I knew. When I took a life without thinking, just to protect her, I knew. I was head over heels in love with the mortal girl with deep violet eyes, a true demon on the battle field, ready and willing to give her life for what she believed in. And I would never see her again.

::Hundreds of Years Later; Alfred's POV::

"Alright, N.H., I have someone I want you to meet. She's quiet and rather cold, but I think the two of you will get along really well, okay?" Alfred watched the guarded expression on Noah's face. He knew it'd be hard to get all the states to interact with one another after so many years, but Al had to try. Especially these two.

"I know she and I are neighbors, so at least we'd have that to talk about? Maybe we'll have similar interests?" Unease. Alfred almost felt bad for forcing Noah to interact with a state other than his little group of New Englanders. Almost. He caught sight of someone moving across the park towards them.

"Ah! Here she comes now! New Hampshire, meet Mackenzie Violet Alice Elizabeth Johnson, also known as the state of Maine." She gave a curt nod, keeping her head down. "What a mouthful, did you have to keep all of your names? Well, Maine, meet Noah Dylan Anderson, the state of New Hampshire. I think you two will get along nicely." She silently held out her hand, slowly looking up.

Alfred never felt more pride in himself that at that moment. Watching NH's eyes light up in joy, Maine's widening in recognition, nothing could keep his heart from swelling up. Especially when Noah yanking the girl into a tight hug, thanking her over and over again. But the best part, the part Al would never forget, was Maine, the ice queen of America, the one who told him to fuck off when he first met her, slowly hugging back, holding onto Noah's shirt in shock, as if he'd fade away if she let go.

He went to leave them alone after that. He knew they'd look out for each other. He knew they'd be close. They had fought together, allies in arms, a shared secret on their lips. They had a bond, a trust they had built without realizing it. He almost did leave too, until he felt two hands, one on his back, gripping his shirt, and one on his arm, both dragging him back, a feeling that he welcomed from the normally reserved states.

You see, Alfred knew. He knew that while he may not be in their lives,

playing an active part, taking care of them, he knew they were thankful for him. He wasn't a father, who Noah could prove himself to, nor was he the brother Maine had always wished to take care of. But he was America. He was their nation. He would help them, protect them; He'd make them smile too, if only for a short time. And that was enough. Family or not, they were his. And he was theirs.


End file.
